


Green Silk Ribbons

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-21
Updated: 2005-11-21
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12415773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Once she wore a green silk ribbon in her hair. Once it danced on the wind and once it faded in a drawer and once it wrapped around fingers in a pocket. Once it dried in front of the fire and dripped from the snow and always it made the dark go away.





	Green Silk Ribbons

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

_**Something I wrote in my one and only easy as fruitcake class this year. Little one-shot type thing.** _

_**Do review, ya?** _

_**-h** _

Green Silk Ribbons

Once she wore a green silk ribbon in her hair.

It hung in a drooping bow from the end of the plait bouncing against her back or near the nape of her neck where it wrapped around her pony tail and did little to stop stray wisps of vibrant red hair from flying out and tickling her nose so that she scrunched it up in irritation and puckered her bottom lip out so she could blow at the strand and make it fly up and spread out and land right back over her eye and her nose and the corner of her mouth.

It flapped in the wind and rarely stayed in its bow and sometimes even blew away so that she had to chase it as it danced in the air and tumbled with the leaves and fluttered in the wind and eluded the grasp of her small fingers. And her hair would blow around her eyes and she would laugh and laugh and push it away from her face and watch her brothers wrestle the ribbon to the ground and scold it for running away and hand it back to be tied again and reassure her that it had learned its lesson once and for all.

Once she tied a green silk ribbon around her hair every morning because her mother told her it matched and Charlie pulled it out to tease her and Bobby Johnson down the street told her it was lovely.

It hung in a drooping bow from the end of the plait flopping on her back or near the nape of her neck where it let strands of shining red hair break loose and tickle her nose while Bill taught her how to ride a broom and Ron sat sulking in the grass because she had kicked him when he said girls weren’t allowed to ride brooms and play Quidditch and run outside and get dirty on purpose.

And her mother told her it matched. Her father told her it matched. Her mirror told her it matched, and Bill tugged on it gently and asked if she wanted a biscuit and her mother fretted because it had let the strands come loose and her nice pretty plait come loose and Charlie had pulled it out so it didn’t matter anymore and Ron had blown on her hair so it flew out and covered her face and made her giggle and smack him on the nose.

Once she wore a green silk ribbon in her hair to the market with her mum to buy tomatoes and a fresh batch of shrivelfigs and if she was lucky maybe a bar of chocolate that her mother would tell her was just for her and don’t eat it before dinner and make sure her brothers don’t find out about it or there’d be more than a commotion in the house.

And the people in the market had milled about and smiled when they saw her and her green ribbon and asked how old she was and wasn’t she precious. The man at the flower stand had given her a daisy and tucked it behind her ear so that it tickled and she laughed and touched the flower with the pads of her fingertips and gave Mr. Flowerstand a hug. He patted her head and smiled at her mum and it was free of charge Mrs. Weasely and have a nice day and tell Arthur hello and not to electropute himself.

Once she wore a brown silk ribbon in her hair because the twins had snuck into her room and changed it overnight so she had crept into their wardrobe and stolen all their socks and held them hostage until they changed her ribbon back again.

Sometimes she took it out on purpose and let it fly in the wind on purpose and tumble with the leaves on purpose so that she could watch and dance and laugh and chase it to the big climbing trees and stuff it in her pocket while she climbed and swung and stuck her tongue out at her brothers when they told her to come down and stop swinging and don’t tell Mum they had let her get away when they were supposed to be watching her.

It always got wet from the melted snow in the winter when she sucked on the icicles hanging from the broom shed that Charlie or Bill or her dad got down for her. And it always got wet when she sat on the sleigh in front of her dad or her brother or by herself when no one was looking and zoomed down the hill to crash into the snow bank and sprawl onto her stomach. And sometimes she rolled down the hill and tumbled down the hill and laughed down the hill to land splayed at the bottom so she could make a snow angel and name it Cassandra or Seraphina or Madeline or Ginny-in-the-snow.

The snow-water dripped from it when she tumbled inside with her brothers after a snowball fight and her Mum would smile and pretend to scold them for the puddles on the floor and the redness of their noses. The hooks on the mantle piece and beside the hearth and on the grate would fill with wet jackets and even wetter pants and socks and her green silk ribbon fluttering and steaming. The fire would hiss and the clothes would steam and she would sit in her father’s lap and drink her cider as her drying hair curled around her face and listen to Bill and Charlie and the Twins tell about that castle that wonderful castle with the stairs and the tapestries and the great mounds of food and laughter and loony talking portraits. And she wanted to know more about the headless ghost and funny man with the great silver beard and the teacher that was a cat and couldn’t she go back with them and couldn’t they just stay a little longer and couldn’t she sneak in one of their trunks and promise to be quiet so no one would ever have to know? And soon, little one, they would say, soon she would be joining them and she would just love it and if she wanted the Twins would send her a toilet seat.

Once she nervously twisted a green silk ribbon around her fingers in her pocket while she sat in a compartment and watched the trees go by and wondered why the girl with the pretty blond hair and big blue eyes and butterbeer-cap necklace read her magazine upside down.

Once she hid behind her heavy crimson curtains and leaned against the pillows and wrote to her friend in the journal while her ribbon lay curled and waving and just a little bit dusty in the drawer beside her bed.

Once she wished for her ribbon while she was in the dark and she was crying and in the dark and he wouldn’t comfort her and wouldn’t help her find her way out of the dark and wouldn’t be her friend anymore. And she wished she had her ribbon, her lovely green silk ribbon, so she could twirl it around her fingers and remember the snow and the wind and the times when it wasn’t so dark and wasn’t so dark and so dark and black and night in the daytime.

Once she had lifted the curly and waving and just a little bit dustier ribbon from the drawer beside her bed to tuck it safely in her pocket and twirl it about her fingers and remember the wind and the snow and the steam and the light so she wouldn’t have to think about the dark and the words and the dark. And it was always in her pocket and never in her hair and never flapping in the wind but always twirling about her fingers and fraying at the edges and fading a little over time.

Once she had told the boy with the green eyes and messy hair and round glasses about the ribbon and the wind and the light. Once she had told him about the dark too and the night and the black and the ribbon in her drawer. Once she had pulled it from her pocket and pushed it into his and slipped it into his and safely tucked it into his so that he could twirl it around his fingers and remember the wind and the snow and the light and the girl beside the lake with the red hair and freckles and faith.

And once he had twirled it when it was so black, so very dark and black, and he had twirled it and remembered and smiled just a little to make the black go away and the night go away and the mean mean friend in the journal go away.

Once he had pulled it from his pocket and pushed it into hers and slipped it into hers and tucked it safely into hers so that she could smile again and laugh again and be the girl by the lake with the red hair and freckles and faith again.

And once she had taken it from him and tied it in her hair and felt the wind push her teardrops across her cheeks as she touched his face and remembered how to live without fear and dream without worrying and smile without inhibitions and cry without guilt and love without restraint.

And she laughs like tomorrow is guaranteed.

**_Feedback is very welcome, loo-hoos. So why don't you leave me some?_ **

**__**


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